Hazy
by audacityy
Summary: The things she doesn't remember. Freddie, Carly, and the line between what's real and what's not.


Four things that they don't remember (_and one they do_).

**i. Carly**

* * *

It's dark and dreary outside; wet, slick rain coating the sidewalks and drip-dripping the glassy windows while the thunder rumbles and the lightning crackles in the night sky. Under the lights of the iCarly studio, safe from the biting wind and the fury of an October Seattle storm, Carly pulls her sweater a little tighter and savors the warmth against her skin. Slouched in her pink beanbag (_it's just an undisputed fact__: it's hers_), her mouth twists into a smile as she watches Freddie and Sam banter back and forth. The longer is continues, the more her vision slowly fades the background into focus, all black-silver-navy blues against the brightness of the cedar floors and the neon lights of the set. The panoramic view of downtown behind the two reminds her why she loves nights like this so much, why she loves the way the lightning spirals towards earth, unable to reach her. The storm lets her think— it's that simple. As long as there is light to shine down from the ceiling, everything is inversely picturesque.

"James Bond!" Sam calls, her voice ringing over the crashes outside, snapping Carly back to attention as the blonde pounds the palm of her hands onto her sixth and final stack of cards. Her eyes glint competitively as she wins over Freddie for the third time, his face hilariously dismal compared to Sam's gloating expression.

"Really, I'm surprised you're so terrible at this game, Benson," she says with a lazy slur, "It's mostly logic. Wait, no— what's that other l-word? Carly?— oh, right! Luck!" Her grin becomes even wider, and Freddie gathers the scattered cards to reshuffle them.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "Shockingly, every bit of luck in this room apparently belongs to you. Figures." He momentarily breaks his gaze off of the deck to glance over his shoulder at the window, turning back to Carly with his _oh-I'm-definitely-onto-you-now_ face, eyebrows raised. "That, or you cheat!"

"I'm so not taking sides!" Carly says, her hands raised in neutrality. "I plead the fifth!"

Sam laughs and grabs her empty bucket of chicken wings from her side. Once she pushes herself to her feet, she says, "Chicken bucket calls. I think the place delivers. Be back in ten." She trots out the door and they can hear her Converse tapping against the stairs as Sam makes her way down to the kitchen. What happens next, even Carly has to appreciate the beauty of the moment. The lights _flicker, flicker, gone_ in perfect time of Sam's heavy footsteps, and she's never been one for poetry, but she thinks, _hey, mother nature, that wasn't half-bad._ Because that's what Carly Shay does: she talks to the weather like it's a person.

No wonder she clicks with Spencer so well. Other than the fact that they're, you know, related. But great minds just think alike, that's all.

Another bolt of lightning sounds through the pane, giving momentary light to the studio. Carly sees Freddie, and once again, the room goes dark. Carly sits stock-still as Freddie makes his way over to her, calling her name softly, gripping her hand quietly as they wait out the blackout. Second turns to minutes and minutes turns to hours: before she knew it, there was light streaming on her face, welcoming her back to morning. Next to her, Freddie stirs, taking his time to gather his wits before making his way out of the apartment, socks soundlessly letting him escape. Carly snuggles her head back into the beanbag, dismissing the scene as something unreal.

* * *

When she wakes up two hours later, she thinks of the strange, strange dream she had about a room without light and feeling a pulse against her palm.

"It was funny," she tells Freddie the next day, "you were in it."

"Was I?" he asks, a nervous catch to his voice that Carly doesn't quite notice. "You're right, that is weird. You never lost power last night. Not in my book, anyway."

"Odd." She says.

He echoes her softly. "Yeah. Odd."

The sun shines warmly into the room, and Freddie swallows hard.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I don't reeally feel this one, and formatting sucks, as always. Feedback is appreciated!

Here's the rules/premise for the game James Bond (http:/ www. pagat .com /commerce /jamesbond .html). I've spend hours playing this game. Honestly, it's fun.


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